Editor's Note: First in line, baby!

It was the morning after Thanksgiving, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, certainly not a mouse.

My wife and I awakened to the sound of beeping. It was 4:30 a.m., and we should have kept sleeping.

Instead, we forced our turkey-stuffed bodies out of bed to join the masses headed to the big box stores early to take advantage of holiday shopping bargains.

This was my first experience with predawn shopping madness, and my expectations were higher than they should have been. We arrived at the Target Greatland at 5:20 a.m.--it was still dark--and nobody was lined up in front of the store. A few cars were idling in the parking lot as we pulled up, the occupants keeping warm before the eventual lineup at the doors, which were set to open at 6.

We made the first move. Yes! First in line, baby!

Just moments after we secured our coveted post, the half-dozen others in the lot shut off their vehicles and trudged toward the store, content to be second, third, fourth in line. Behind us, a young mother half-heartedly tried to manage a couple of kids who were understandably cranky at this early hour. "I want to go bye-bye!" one toddler whined, making me ponder why he--and I--was there in the first place. As if that wasn't symbolic enough, a young woman in line wore a knit cap emblazoned with the word "Dork." How appropriate for the occasion.

At 5:35, a couple of bright-eyed Target employees came outside to chat up the growing crowd. They offered candy--I took a bite-sized Reese's--and credit card apps.

Despite no evidence to back it up, I held out hope that Target would hand out gifts of some kind to the first 50 or 100 people in line. I recall this being a common practice in past years at various stores. One year I know my wife came home from a post-Thanksgiving shopping trip with a Christmas tree ornament.

But the Target employees didn't mention any gifts, and talk in line soon turned to which store entrance would open first. We had lined up at the lefthand entrance, but as our line lengthened, a few late-comers gambled and started lining up at the righthand entrance. Our location was better, of course, because we were closer to the electronics department, where, it turned out, most people in line were headed. But focusing on the principle of the matter, we admonished the Target employees to honor the fact that we had arrived earliest.

The truth is, my wife and I had no particular motivation to get there early. We had not identified any items in the store's newspaper circular that we absolutely had to have and were concerned would be gone if we arrived later. We just thought it would be fun. Nevertheless, we felt almost as anxious about the store's early opening as any of the estimated 200 people in line.

At 5:57, the doors opened. No gifts--except, I suppose, the opportunity to shop, which has become as vital to us Americans as free speech and the right to vote. We waltzed into the well-lighted store while those behind us scurried to one of two areas: electronics and toys.

Fifteen minutes later, we were rolling our cart away from the checkout line, having purchased about $200 worth of merchandise. Naturally.

On to Circuit City! The electronics store had an attractive sale on DVDs--$4.99 apiece for some good titles. (Shouldn't everybody have the director's cut of Blade Runner?) When we arrived, though, we caught sight of the checkout line--perhaps a hundred people holding DVD players, stereos and other gadgets.

Forget it.

We fled Circuit City and descended on IHOP, where we were immediately escorted to a table and our breakfast order did not take long to arrive. This, we concluded, was a better use of our time than fighting the crowds.

First in line and no gift. Can you believe it?

Rich and dumb

Believing as I do that Wal-Mart is evil and must be destroyed--a quixotic mission if I've ever had one--I relished last week's gotcha story about Wal-Mart heiress Elizabeth Paige Laurie.

Laurie's billionaire parents donated $25 million to the campaign to build a sports arena at the University of Missouri. This gave them the rights to name the building. With all the arrogant stupidity they could possibly muster, they decided to name the arena after their 22-year-old daughter.

But cute little Paige did not attend ol' Mizzou and did nothing to deserve such a prestigious honor. This move, needless to say, irked the university faithful.

Well, the story gets better. As this controversy was simmering in the heartland, a former roommate at the University of Southern California revealed on "20/20" that Paige had paid her about $20,000 over more than three years to write her papers and do her other homework. Hey, who has time for learnin' when you've got millions of dollars of inheritance--obtained largely through the backbreaking efforts of Chinese peasants--to spend on fun and term papers in sunny Southern California?

Thanks to this embarrassing turn of events, Paige Laurie's name has been removed from the sports venue.

Postscript: If Wal-Mart is looking for bright young entrepreneurs to run its company in the future, maybe it ought to get in touch with the roommate. She obviously knows easy money when she sees it.

--GEOFF SCHUMACHER